


through us he's given life to one

by electrahearts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrahearts/pseuds/electrahearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a baby on his doorstep, and Derek doesn't want to keep it. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	through us he's given life to one

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to tumblr, basically just posted here because the lack of dallison in the tag makes me sad.
> 
> warnings for mentions of kate, derek's tragic past and self blame. can you warn for a person? if so i'm basically just warning for derek. 
> 
> title (obviously) from stevie wonder's isn't she lovely.

Derek has a routine: wake up just after sunrise, do his workout downstairs so Allison doesn’t complain about both the noise and the fact that no actual person is awake before they have to be, and pick up his morning paper from the doorstep, because he likes to feel the paper in his hands. He doesn’t expect the headline of his paper to be hidden underneath a basket.

The blanket covering the basket moves, a tiny hand stretching out. He gingerly bends over to move the rest of the blanket, revealing - a baby. Shit.

"Allison," he calls, listening out for the loud thump that means Allison’s fallen onto the floor again. He picks up the basket with one hand and goes inside to wait for her. He doesn’t know if she’ll be ten minutes or an hour - she likes to be unpredictable.

Allison runs down the stairs barely two minutes later, her favourite daggers swinging from both hands.

"Werewolves, hunters, and/or other?" she asks, her voice in that scary, professional mode he hates, because it’s one of the few things that reminds him that she and Kate are related.

"None," he says, putting the basket down and picking up the kid, holding him like his dad had taught him to hold Cora, though he never thought he’d need that particular skill again. "It’s a-"

"It’s a _baby_."

"Obviously," he says. She gives him a Look. He kind of deserves it.

"It was just on the front step, like Harry Potter or something. It smells human, though," he adds before she can ask.

She turns to put the daggers down carefully.

"What do we do with it?"

Allison’s shoulders shake.

"What?" he says, trying not to be grouchy and failing. He’s missed his usual workout and his back hurts, so sue him.

"It’s just," her shoulders keep shaking, but she lets her hair fall deliberately over her face, so he can’t tell whether she’s laughing or crying. There’s no salt in the air, but that doesn’t mean anything. Allison’s very good at masking her emotions when it suits her.

"What?"

"Your mouth is saying ‘take this baby away’, but your eyebrows are saying ‘aww, so cute, can we keep it’?" she says, and yep, she’s definitely laughing now. He almost reconsiders proposing to her, but he figures she knows about the ring in his top drawer already and wouldn’t be pleased if he didn’t follow through. Besides, he kind of loves her.

He stares at her, hoping his expression is saying how much his eyebrows are not saying to keep the kid. Eyebrows can’t say anything, anyway, she’s clearly been spending too much time with Stiles.

She stares back, holding his gaze, and then she does that unfair smoldering thing that always makes him look away. When he looks back, she’s wearing an expression that the sickening feeling in his gut identifies as pity. He’s had enough pity for a lifetime.

"We’re not keeping the baby, Derek," she says, almost softly. He can’t tell whether the clenching of his gut means ‘thank god, not another person to ruin’ or grief.

"Oh."

"We’ll take him down to the station when it’s a more decent hour," she says, touching his shoulder briefly before heading for the kitchen. He can hear the sounds of her making coffee, but wisely decides against asking her to make him one. She always puts extra sugar in it to ‘sweeten him up’.

The baby makes a sleepy sound in his arms, and he looks down. Its - he’s not gonna check the sex, he knows that rule one for not falling for a kid you never actually wanted or asked for, he’s read novels - eyes are open, so it’s not that young. Six months, maybe.

One of its tiny hands reach toward his chest, grappling for a hand hold that isn’t there, and he dimly realises he never put his shirt on when he went to get the paper. He bets Mrs Hodgerson loved that, the old perv.

Its eyes remind him of Cora’s when she was little, this kind of light brown like the carpet of his bedroom or his mother’s coffee with too much milk, and oh, yeah, he’s not cut out to be a father when he killed his.

He keeps staring, just a little bit longer.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm ohmccalls on tumblr.


End file.
